Steel Blood and Dirt: Tale of Theodore of Windhelm
by TES-TU-Fingers
Summary: Follow the journey of a man who has been plunged into secrecy, guilt and betrayal over the Stormcloak forces but remains a brave, old warrior, determined to fight for justice until he takes his final breathe. Check out the full chapters by the Stem97 crew: /u/3734130/Stem97


**Hey, Fingers here and for the first time I have decided to post a Skyrim Fanfic. This story, however, is a Point of View piece that relates to a single character - Theodore - from another project that I am working on with the crew over at Stem97.**

** I ****definitely suggest going over to Stem97 if you would like to read the full story, written by myself and four other great writers: u/3734130/Stem97**

**The story contains some extracts from the full chapter that was posted by Stem97 but also includes a lot more information and action from the perspective of Theodore of Windhelm.**

**I hope you enjoy my very first Fanfic, and the very first installment of Steel, Blood and Dirt - Theodore POV.**

**./.**

Theodore sat in his bonds, staring into the distance with anger and malice. The thin pines along the road stood over him with spite and only the snow-covered mountain in the distance could make them appear weak in the stinging, frost-bitten air. His long white cloak had been stripped from him by the Imperial forces and they had left him only a ragged linen shirt and trousers for protection against Helgen's icy breath. His cloak had been torn off his back upon his capture, just as further humiliation at his situation.

His trance was interrupted by a voice in the opposite corner of the prison cart. "So, how did you get locked up here?" Theodore glanced slowly towards the voice. Understandably, it came from a woman; 'A girl, rather,' he thought. She was small in height and build with snowy blonde hair and a soft face. Her eyes, though, were full of fire. Experience beyond her years it seemed. He gathered from the expression on the girl's face that the question was directed at him.

"Your manners seem to have been lost along with your ability to hide from Imperials it seems," Theodore replied, returning to the landscape. "A girl like you should know when to be heard and when to be seen."

His foul mood seemed to have reached his tongue as well as his thoughts. The girl skulked back into her corner with anger, and Theodore couldn't blame her. Generally a man of chivalry, he had been warped into a great beast on a chain.

His view of the colossal mountainside was shortly corrupted by the wooden entry to the small town of Helgen. The cart passed small houses and buildings before stopping outside a stone defence turret, in front of which was a small chopping block and a wicker basket. Accompanying the tools stood a large executioner draped in black and a priestess also in a black, hooded cloak. Awaiting the prisoners were two Imperial officials; the male in thick Imperial armour held a paper from which he read the names of the captives.

"Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm," The man called. The large figure at the front of the line made his way to the block to await his demise. Theodore looked down at his feet as to avoid catching the great Jarl's eye. His shame was mounting and had begun to take hold of his mind.

"Ralof of Riverwood," the official continued. "Lokir of Rorikstead."

Immediately, the man named Lokir stood in front of the female official, "No, I'm not a rebel!" he pleaded. "You can't do this!" Suddenly, he made for the gates and was shortly silenced by a swift arrow from one of the Imperial archers who stood watch over the prisoners.

After all of the captives had made their way to the executioner, the priestess began to give them their last rites. She was interrupted, however, by a weak, but fearless man who laid his neck over the block.

The sight of blood and dirt had never been enough to reach Theodore, and the small weak man's head lying in a poorly woven basket was no exception. Just as a man by the name of Blythe took up his position at the block, and the masked executioner drew his halberd, a deathly roar was heard throughout Helgen. A mighty figure made its way overhead and landed on the stone turret above the Imperial officials.

Theodore's first instinct was to run directly away from the creature; however his years had taught him that diving to his right was a far safer means of escape. His theory was recognized as the monolithic beast shot a thunderous roar from within itself and onto prisoners and soldiers, sending them in flight onto the hard ground behind them. Only once he had hauled himself off the ground and steadied his feet did he decide to break for freedom.

He darted into a small tower in front of him and made for the small window above the staircase. He eased his large figure through the gap with difficulty and landed with grace on the thick snow beneath. Theodore did not dare to look back as he ran over the crunching snow, through the towering pines and only heard echoes of screams and another mighty howl as he disappeared into the forest.

It was dark and cold by the time he finally made his way into the town of Riverwood. He had broken his bonds on a jagged rock from within the forest at the mountain's edge. He was parched and starved from the journey to Helgen and more so after travelling the length of the day to find his way back into civilisation. He had been to Riverwood many times in his travels before the arrest and so Theodore decided to take up temporary residence in the Sleeping Giant Inn. He only realised his lack of gold when he entered the establishment.

The innkeeper, Delphine, looked at him curiously. "May I help you, Sir?"

"That you may," Theodore replied. "I have not but the clothes on my back and a dwindling heart. I know I must pay and I intend to do so, with interest of course, but, you see I am a poor man today, but a rich man the next. May I take up accommodation here in this fine guesthouse?"

"You speak well beyond your appearance," Delphine said. "I am sure you will muster the gold in no time. Please, you are welcome to stay as long as you should like, good sir." With that, she showed Theodore to a room and sat a tankard of ale by his bedside. When she had left, he noticed a trunk next to another bed in the room. He quickly made for the wooden box and, making sure he was alone, he gathered a belted tunic, a pair of black boots and nine gold coins. Finally, he closed the trunk and, leaving the ale untouched, Theodore drifted off into a deep, frightful sleep.


End file.
